a story about a man who skipped breakfast

He wore the night around his neck, next to his wrinkled flannel shirt. The pearly snaps were the only smooth surfaces in his entire ensemble, but the man would never notice. He claimed the comfortable treasure (not of the re-worked fashion vintage variety) when his father had passed away one year before and had worn the plaid pattern almost every day since.

His sinister hands found the depths of his denim pockets and wrestled with the gray lint as he walked. It was morning, but the days passed without the normal measures of time. There was no work or school or duties or appointments. There was only the man, the flannel, the lint, and the very intentional walking. On this morning, the man looked up from his decisive path to see an empty café. The man quickly took note of the time, gathered it was around 8 am, and then wondered why the young aproned girl inside was sweeping around empty tables.

It had been awhile since the man’s thoughts wandered from the flannel, the lint, and the walking, but something about the deserted morning destination drew him inside. Fumbling for a tight grip on the lint cloud with his right hand, he pushed the café door with his left, and entered headfirst. The man couldn’t form an answer when he heard the aproned girl ask, “Welcome, sir. Where would you like to sit?”

He stood there, looking at the floor, and the whole mess of a solitary year rushed his mind. The conversation seemed to invite him so simply out of the self-imposed shell he crawled into after his father’s passing. He drank her words like sweet honey and then managed, “I’m sorry, you said?”

“I said, welcome. Would you like a table?” This time she tilted her head to the side and leaned her broom against the wall.

He thought a smile pulled at the corner of her lips, but he hadn’t studied a human face in so long he wasn’t quite sure. He realized, as he wondered about the occasion of a smile, that the aproned girl was expecting a response to her question and he furiously rubbed the lint with his right hand and said, “Uh, yes, this one will do. Thank you.”

He chose a table by the window, but nestled next to a book shelf filled with classics and comics – a strange combination, he thought. Without warning, the aproned girl set herself down across from the man and asked where he was walking from.

Thanks, Ben, for your thoughts! I like the idea of imagination as well, but as I read back over it I think I could develop it and give a few more clues before I let it go to imagination. We’ll see… thanks for your encouragement as well!

okay, okay, mom… I’ll develop it a bit more. I was getting to like “the man” character and I know the aproned girl has such a sweet heart, it would really be a waste of characters to leave them so unfinished 🙂